


Late Night Musings

by Captains_Orders



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Character Study, Childhood Memories, Headcanon, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 03:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13045452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captains_Orders/pseuds/Captains_Orders
Summary: Cor can't sleep, trapped in memories and musings that lead him nowhere. He's familiar with nights like these, but he's not used to having company, even if that company is asleep.





	Late Night Musings

**Author's Note:**

> Filled this out for a prompt on Tumblr a while back but figured it deserved it's own spot on this site instead of being thrown in with MBU.   
> Just some character reflection that got away from me.
> 
> Unbetad

When Cor looks back on his childhood he doesn’t remember it being particularly happy. It wasn’t a bad upbringing, but there was nothing outstanding either. His mother had been good to him, soft and kind, though she constantly fretted over everything. And his father... his father had been distant in every way. Gone off to war most of the time Cor could remember, a war he was still fighting, and quiet the few times he was home. Cor’s father had been a cold man, not cruel, but there was nothing gentle in him, a life of fighting had hardened him too much for that, and though he loved his only son it was in his own way. He’d idolized the man growing up, his very own strong and silent hero like in the old movies his parents had. Late at night he would sneak out of his room once his parents were asleep and put in some old adventure movie with the volume low and let his mind dream up all the dashing heroics his father did when he was away and sometimes all the things he could one day do. His father caught him once, and it was one of the few times Cor had ever seen him angry. 

“Real life isn’t a story, Cor. This,” he’d pointed to the television where the hero had torn through his enemies to save his men and all the expressions were joyous, “this is a lie. There are no happy endings out there, there are no heroes.” He’d gone on and on, ranting and raving about how cruel the real world was until it had woken up Cor’s mother who simply stood and watched until Cor had broken down into tears. His father had sighed, fiery eyes suddenly dulled. “Don’t cry, Cor, only the weak cry.” Cor remembers drying his tears with the back of his hand, standing sullenly and letting his father shepherd him to bed. When he’d tucked himself in his father had ruffled his hair. “Go to bed, son, and quit dreaming. Life’s easier that way.”

It was hard for a ten year old boy grasp, but Cor remembers it still. His father had died in the field three years later, and sickness took his mother the year after. By then he was already on the Crownsguard, juggling classes and training and an incomprehensible sense of loss. Work became his life, is still his life, and his family those closest to him. Those he cares about. Monica, Clarus, Regis, the children he’d watched grow up, a baby found in the depths of hell, they were his family, that which he fights to protect. He loves them, in his own way. Perhaps the only way he knows how, but Cor thinks it is enough.

Cor doesn’t know what prompted this late night musing, lying on his back while staring up into the dark, but his mind refuses sleep. Maybe it was the glimpse he’d caught of the framed photo on his dresser before he’d found himself in bed, not that it mattered. The reminiscing seemed to be over. Evening his breathing he lets his eyes close. Beside him the warm body shifts, an arm seeking out in the weak senselessness of sleep and draping over him, pulling him closer. His eyes open the moment he starts to move, and he moves his head to look at the man beside him. Titus Drautos almost looks like a different man asleep. Usually the man’s nightmares woke them both on those rare nights Titus chose to stay, but rarer still were nights like this, when Titus sleeps and Cor lay awake. There was a softness to his face, one that made him look younger despite the faint lines that lingered long after he’d finished scowling, creases and scars he aches to trace. What was his childhood like? Cor wonders as he watches the man sleep. Fifteen was the age they shared when it came to childhood’s end, but before? What was it like in the village Titus grew up in? They’d never spoken about such things, maybe they should, it would probably do them both good but… That’s not what this was. And what was this exactly? Cor didn’t have a name for this thing between them anymore. Where did Titus fall when it came to the people Cor cared about? They were friends, and he cared for the man deeply, but he was not a part of the family Cor had found in the Citadel. What was he then? Cor lets out a long sigh, unwilling to think on it further. He shifts under the arm around his waist, intent on getting up to make himself a cup of tea that would hopefully calm his racing thoughts. He doesn’t get far, Titus keeps him on the bed, pulls him closer, eyes still closed. 

“Where are you going?” Words hoarse and slurred with sleep Titus doesn’t even open his eyes as he asks, and Cor feels that strange affection flutter in his chest. 

“Can’t sleep, gonna make some tea,” he replies softly, giving into the urge to touch and smoothing some of the unruly hair back from Titus’s now furrowed brow. “Go back to sleep.” Titus grunts, murmuring something intelligible into the pillow before the grip loosens around his hips and Cor frees himself from the bead.

He pulls on his discarded pair of sweatpants out of habit more than necessity and pads his way to the kitchen, quietly getting the things he needs to brew his ever faithful chamomile sleep aid. He pulls the kettle off the stove before it can sing, pouring the lightly boiling water over the teabag and stirring it absentmindedly. When he’s content with the color he sets everything aside to be dealt with in the morning and thinks an sips and thinks some more. What were they? Was it even worth thinking about. Cor shakes his head, rubs at the back of his neck like it will somehow help and sets his empty mug on the counter.

Back in the bedroom he has to pause at the door, the sight of Titus sleeping soundly in his bed one he would never get used to but also one he thought he would never tire of seeing. The man fit, in his bed, in his life, a jagged piece that slipped into the puzzle and just fit. When he gets back on the bed and under the covers Titus pulls him closer by reflex. If he’s awake at all he says nothing, which is fine, Cor is content enough to tuck himself under his chin and tangle their legs together. Lying on their sides curled towards one another Cor finally feels himself start to drift off. So he doesn’t have a name for what they are, but as he lies there listening to their breathing sync, he knows there’s something there, something he’s not willing to think about any longer. Within seconds he’s asleep, lulled by the comforting warmth and that something he’s almost afraid of.


End file.
